Denial
by england-has-swag
Summary: AU. Arthur has been raising Alfred since their parents died to avoid putting him in foster care. Unfortunately, this means that they don't live very well. They get into an argument about priorities, and Alfred runs away. Things take a turn for the worse. Warnings: Angst, Major Character Death, Blood, and Slight Gore


The night had a slight nip to it as Arthur trudged home tiredly. The streets were near empty, as they would be at this time of night. He was glad that he'd been able to buy a jacket for himself the other night. He pulled it tighter around his frame and shivered slightly as he continued the short walk. It wouldn't have exactly mattered if it was a long way to the bar he worked on weekends. He didn't have a car, so he would have to walk, either way.

He yawned softly as he climbed up the chipped stone steps that lead to the front door of his house, then dug around in his pocket for his key. He quickly found it, and fumbled with it for a moment before unlocking the door. It was a slight surprise that the door could even withstand everything it had been through. Their house was due for a new door soon. It had a giant crack in it, and the paint was peeling away. Then again, every part of the house should probably have been replaced.

"Alfred, I'm home!" he called, stepping in, closing the door, and hanging his jacket in the closet. He had left the other home alone, as he did most nights when he had to work. Alfred was old enough to stay home alone, which Arthur was grateful for. It meant he didn't have to pay for a babysitter any longer. He couldn't afford it. They were incredibly pricey these days. It was hard for him to afford one when Alfred was smaller.

The house smelled slightly off from the previous owners, and the walls were yellowed. They must have been smokers. The carpet may have been white, or maybe a light tan at some point, but now it was covered in various stains, tracking back to when the house was first built. They lived in a shitty house, in a shitty neighborhood, but it was at least better than their old apartment. It was the best place that Arthur could afford. If they didn't have to live on the wrong side of town, then they wouldn't be.

There wasn't much of a choice with his income, though. After their parents had died in a car crash when Arthur was barely eighteen, he was left to care for his younger brother on his own. He didn't have the chance to get anything better than a high school education. Though, he hadn't wanted to leave the younger in the chances of foster care. He had raised Alfred for years, and as it was, the other had just turned eighteen a few months ago. As much as Arthur hated it, he had to start charging the younger blonde rent. It was too difficult to support them both, even with two jobs.

He wandered into the living room after he received no answer, and completely froze. Sitting on the couch, leaned forward in concentration, clicking the buttons on the controller in his hands furiously, and playing an /Xbox,/ was Alfred. Arthur could barely contain his shock. Not that the other was here, of course. But of what he was doing.

"Alfred… Where did you get that…?" he questioned, already feeling irritation blooming with the other.

Alfred jumped slightly, as if he had been so concentrated in his game, that he hadn't noticed Arthur come in. He paused it, and looked back with an innocent smile. "Oh. Hey, Bro. I picked it up right after you left from the pawn shop down the street. Pretty sweet, huh?"

Arthur's brows furrowed in anger. "You told me you didn't have the money to pay for rent. And I already told you that I don't want you walking the neighborhood alone at night," he said, dryly.

The other stared at him for a moment. "I thought you'd be happy. We have somethin' to do besides sit around all day, now," he interjected, avoiding the subject.

The older quickly shook his head. "You may have the luxury of 'sitting around all day,' but I don't. I have to work two jobs to afford this shit hole. Not to mention other expenses. We can't afford that."

Alfred frowned. "Maybe you can't…" he murmured, looking away.

That was it. That was what put Arthur over the edge. He'd cared for this boy, worked so hard to give him the best life he possibly could, and this was how the other repaid him. "If I can't afford it, then neither can you!" he yelled. "I /need/ rent money, Alfred. With you still living here, I can barely afford to pay for the two of us to live! Do you not care!?"

"You're the one who leaves me alone here all the time!" Alfred shouted back, standing. "You have a second job at the bar! Big fuckin' deal! I don't see why I even stay in this run-down old house, anymore, when I'm the only one ever in it!" He stormed off to his room, and began packing a bag. Arthur quickly followed on his heel.

"Are you stupid!? Do you think that I want to leave you alone? You make it sound like I don't care about you! All I do is care about you! Everything I do is to make sure you're happy!"

Alfred quickly finished packing a duffel bag full of clothes, and a few other things. "Well, I'm not," he replied bitterly.

Arthur's mouth hung open slightly in shock. The other quickly pushed past him, and walked out the door. The Brit just stood there, not knowing what to do. He felt crushed. He was shaking slightly, and only barely registered the door slamming. He saw something drip onto the floor, only to realize he was crying. He almost never cried.

After a few minutes of processing, he decided that Alfred eventually had to come back. He sat on the couch, and waited. An hour went by. Two. Three.

He woke up. He'd apparently nodded off. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he sat up and glanced over at the clock. He blinked. "No… That can't be right…" he muttered to himself. Nearly eight hours had gone by. "Alfred!?" he called into the house. His voice only echoed in a lonely way. The house was clearly empty.

Arthur began to panic. He threw on his jacket and ran outside. The sun was just rising, so he could at least see a little. He jogged down the street, the cold air quickly burning his lungs. He jogged for what seemed like hours.

Right as he was about to give up, and call the police, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Blood. His breath hitched at first with worry. It was a hand print on the wall of an alley. It was near where the alley met with the sidewalk, so it was visible from where he was standing. He had to make sure…

Arthur slowly crept his way into the alley. He glanced around for a moment, and didn't see anything at first. Then, he saw a hand lying out from behind a dumpster. His breath hitched again. There was no way…. He cautiously made his way over, just to freeze, and let out a small, choking sound. He covered his mouth. The feeling in his gut had been right. Alfred was bloodied up, a gunshot wound in his stomach, and blood covering most of his body. His bag was nowhere to be found, so it could be assumed that it was a mugger.

Arthur quickly knelt down beside the other to touch his younger brother's face. It was cold. Tears were falling down his face, and he let out a short sob, and shook his head. "N-No…" he murmured. He pulled out his cheap cell phone from his pocket, and quickly dialed the emergency number.

"Hello. Nine-one-one. Please state the nature of your emergency and location," rang a crackly voice from the other side of the phone.

"I… He's so c-cold…" Arthur murmured, his hand still on the other's face. He dropped the phone, forgetting who he was calling and why. Instead, he pulled Alfred's body close to him, into his lap as he leaned against the wall.

"Hello…?" a small voice questioned from the phone several times. It went deaf to Arthur's ears.

He hugged Alfred closer to him, not caring about the blood that was seeping into his clothes, and staining his flesh. He was sobbing. "Y-You're s-so cold," he stuttered out. "I just… Y-You just… You n-need to be w-warmed up…"

Paramedics arrived about twenty minutes later. They had to tear Arthur away from the stiff body of his little brother. He had been yelling questions about why Alfred was being taken away, he didn't understand. He was just cold. He just needed to be warmed up. They were forced to take him away for a psyche evaluation.

Months later, Arthur was at work when he received a call from his old friend, Francis. They hadn't talked in a while, but the Frenchman had seen something on the news about his younger brother dying. He had been trying to contact him for a while, but the other hadn't picked up any of his calls until now.

"Hello?" Arthur questioned, sounding beat from working the late shift, yet again.

"Ah… Arthur… Bonjour…" Francis muttered. "It's me."

The Englishman blinked. He hadn't spoken to Francis in an extremely long time. It actually took him a moment to place who it was, even with the mixed French, and heavy accent. "Francis? Yes, what do you need? I need to get back to work."

"Well… I heard about your brother… I'm terribly sorry," he said quietly. He just wanted to give the other his best wishes. He wasn't sure how Arthur would be able to afford a funeral.

"Oh, you heard about how he ran away?" he asked. "It is a shame," he said sadly. "I do hope they find him soon."


End file.
